


Until we rise with open eyes

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Affection, Comfort, Dreamscapes, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Nature, Non-Linear Narrative, Sea imagery, Some pining, Tenderness, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 06:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: The world shines, shaped into gold by the sunlight, overbrimming with all its mysteries. It waits, with arms wide open, and it belongs to them.A story about the land and the sea and that place that has always beenhere.





	Until we rise with open eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chantefable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/gifts).



> This is a treat for chantefable, inspired by their [wonderful prompt](http://chantefable.dreamwidth.org/293290.html). It's (hopefully) packed full of affection and sea imagery, and it even includes a mention of octopi, because they are awesome!

dream with me, dream with me, we’ll wake in better days,  
and we’ll build a boat and we’ll hope that it floats  
and then we’ll sail, we’ll sail away  
[...]  
dream with me, dream with me, we’ll wake in better light,  
and until we rise with open eyes, goodnight, my love, goodnight  
yes until some sun wakes everyone, goodnight, my love, goodnight

\- Kris Delmhorst: [Lullaby 101](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QuZn94Gog8).

*

He sits by the water, waiting. He watches the ships go, coming in and out, out to sea. He looks for its rhythm, for its song. He looks at the sky, all smoke and stone and grey seagull clouds. And the sea, right there. So blue and so close, a different shade every day, fading into the changing colours of the dawn.

He is here, on dry land. Here, he's clumsy and slow and awkward. He takes up too much space. He has to watch his step and his hands and his mouth. Here, he isn't even good with words. He doesn't know how to belong here. He doesn't know how to _be_. The land takes and takes and takes away, until there is nothing left for him to give. And he is almost nowhere, almost lost.

But not for long.

The sea knows, and it gives something back to him. It beats and roars, and it follows him everywhere. It is all the language he knows. He has sea hands, a sea heart. He has a direction here, he has a course. He hears the sound of the waves. And he feels the wind and the salt and all the stars in the sky. All calling him, calling him back.

He can't stay here. He can't be himself. And he can't sleep. No, not unless the waves rock him and keep him safe. He needs to go back, back to that place in the water among the maps and the charts and the books and the ship supplies, that place that is nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Back to where he belongs, back to that place that is home.

And the sea waits, too. It waits for him. He speaks to it, and he hears its stories. His eyes are open. He doesn't want to forget.

*

There's a small window that looks out at the sky. The smoke rises, up, up, and he breathes in, and out. He counts the deep breaths, he counts the heartbeats. He paces carefully, looking for a place, finding it, knowing it was already there. He looks at Stephen sleeping. He looks small and slight, but awkward and impatient as well. Even exasperated. Truly himself. Deep down, he has a sea soul too. Yes, he does. It is what makes Jack stay close and stay _here_. He will wait, until Stephen opens his eyes. He will wait.

He waits, among the books and the curiosities and the smell of medicine and books. He waits, and he remembers. There is something here, he knows, something that came from out of nowhere. He can't define it, not yet. And so it remains, an undiscovered island. A little fire burning like the fever on his brow. A dream of sorts. He doesn't know how to speak its name, but he knows what it is. An understanding, made up by this music, this whispered touch. A secret, like foreign words and eyes, only revealed by the night and the sea.

Jack knows his heart, completely. He doesn't have to hide. He's never been more sure of anything, and yet, he's never been so afraid. How strange and terrifying, the beat of his heart. How very wonderful. And perhaps he can't be silent any longer. No, he can't bear it. He is his true north. His compass, his anchor. Without him, the sea wouldn't be enough anymore. He has to know.

He carefully places Stephen's glasses and watch on the table, and then brings him close, close to him. He feels his heart beating, like the stitches, like the drops of water, like the infinite grains of sand. Closer and safe, safe in his arms. These hands, these bones, this skin. It feels right and familiar, like those little stones underwater, like the soft motion of all the ships he has ever known.

And here they are, closely entwined like rope, like mangroves, like those strange octopi Stephen holds so dear, so close to his heart. Closer, even closer. His heartbeat is loud, loud like a drum. It reaches out to the sea, the sky, the sand, in an unexpected prayer. It helps him to find the words. It speaks for him. It says _I cannot be, I cannot bear to be without you._

He feels the salt water in his fingers, in his mouth. He traces the lines and the scars and learns them all by heart, like music. He makes a new pattern, a map, a journey back. A shelter, a home of sorts.

In the small, quiet hours before sunrise, salt water in his heart.

*

Sometimes, the land comes closer. It takes on strange shapes and sounds. It's dry, dry like all these unshed tears. And he has to push, push it back, like the fog. Like the nightmare, like the albatross. He has to push it far away. No, not the land. He doesn't want it.

And why would he? He is out here, on the deep, wide sea. Here, with the stars and the waves and the storms, beating and roaring a lullaby within his breast. This is the only place for him. His heart was born to be right here, in this place he can always see, even with his eyes closed. Here, he is seen. Here, he is real. He is someone. He has something here, something else. Sharp, like the storm, like unknown music. Like a spark, like fire. It's rough around the edges and difficult, just like him. That's why it suits him. That is why it is right. And that is why it becomes easy. To give up, give in. To lay the world at his feet, because there is no world without him.

He sits with Stephen, he whispers about the music and the birds and the clouds. The beat of his heart is so dear, so close. It sends a message, a code to decipher. It is the beacon, it is the answer. He cradles it close, like a rare, precious gift, like a destination. He would walk through the fog for it. He would not stop. He would follow, he would find it.

And this is where he finds himself, at last. Here, he can rest here. Here, with the the wind and the silence. With the sea. And when he sleeps, he will sleep to its rhythm. He will dream of whale songs, deep, deep down, flying free like the albatross, always searching, like the crane in the water, in the salt water.

He breathes, and he is here, he is _here_.

And when Stephen opens his eyes and calls out for Jack, it sounds a bit like the sea when it's soft and quiet. It calls him back, back to that place that has always been _here_ , right here, with him. He sees it, in his eyes. He feels the tender silence between them. Beautiful and rare, like the lights in the sky, like the secret soul of the sea. And he knows. He has always known.

Slowly, they walk, back to the shore, to the edge of the water. The world shines, shaped into gold by the sunlight, overbrimming with all its mysteries. It waits, with arms wide open, and it belongs to them. And yes, it is right. Jack smiles, just for him, and his eyes are so much like the sun. And he sets the course to sail away, to find it - that joyful breeze, that bright reflection, that home among the waves.


End file.
